


The Tightrope

by DannyIsMyBoi



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: I'm Sorry, One Shot, crossposted on ffn, last minute writing, please let me know what you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 14:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18099989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DannyIsMyBoi/pseuds/DannyIsMyBoi
Summary: One Shot - Danny becomes a permanent attraction in Freakshow’s circus. (Prompt by DanPhanWritingPrompts on Tumblr)





	The Tightrope

He was back on the tightrope. Walking across the thin, and weathered line between life and death.

Sometimes he wondered if he would ever fall below into the pit of everlasting afterlife. Take the risk and _dive_ into the deep end.   
  
Of course, that would assume that he wasn’t already living his afterlife, which wasn’t the case. He was doomed to stay in this repetitive cycle for eternity.   
  
There wasn’t a point to continue walking across the tightrope; it was all for the amusement of others. He was the _main attraction_ , or so he was told. Nothing could ever replace him or his specialities.   
  
Holding his newly sharpened scythe and pretending to teeter across the piece of string, he felt void of emotion. Passing through the motions did that to one. Maybe there was that rush of adrenaline in the beginning when he first started, hoping to wow the crowd with his death-defying act.   
  
Oh the irony. His entire existence was one _death-defying act_. 

  
But nowadays he felt nothing. Writhing under the grasp of a human and his overpowering scepter left one awfully tired. The cuffs on his mind and body were the only things keeping him from falling into the abyss aforementioned.   
  
One by one, he gradually stepped across the rope, receiving ooh’s and aah’s in response. It was so easy for a being like him to reach the other side. The question was was he willing to _leave behind everything_ he had ever loved and cherished to reach the other side?   
  
Sometimes he wondered why he ever crossed to the other side. Even if it was absentmindedly and involuntary.   
  
Was it seeing his best friend and possible crush plummet thousands of feet into the icy reservoir below?   
  
Was it hearing _her_ ear piercing screams and knowing that he could’ve saved _her_?  
  
Was it the knowledgeable fact that _she_ would still be here if he had broken the spell that warped his mind at the time, bending his vision into one huge hallucination?

Was it wrenching the blood red scepter, the origin of all his troubles, from _her_ fragile hands? The hands he would _never_ get the chance to caress again?   
  
Was it seeing the horrifying expression on his _other_ best friend whom he had known for several years?   
  
Was it hearing _his_ shouts and sobs that he didn’t do anything to save _her?_   
  
Was it that wretched feeling that sat at the bottom of his stomach as he _smirked_ at the sight of his best friend plunging into the frozen water below, watching as she created a ripple of waves around her source of contact?   
  
Or maybe it was knowing that he could _never_ return back. That everything he had once took for granted was gone before his eyes.   
  
All because he couldn’t shake off the dread of not being _accepted_.   
  
When he had heard news of a hiker discovering a female teenager’s body in the river, he knew who it belonged immediately. Only one other person would’ve been able to identify the body. But he was _gone_ now. He too accepted the same fate as that of the deceased girl.

How had the hiker not noticed the _other_ lifeless body floating in the river only feet away? The one that belonged to his _other_ best friend? The one that had fallen from the moving train atop the bridge?  
  
He didn’t want to push _him_ , he was _forced_ to. Just like he had to watch her fall.   
  
When her body was found, everyone assumed the same fates for the rest of the trio. That they had all taken their lives in an attempt to rid of the pain of being social outcasts.  
  
 _If only that was the truth._  
  
The trio had a combined funeral, where each of the parents sobbed till their voices were no longer audible. Much sorrow was shared between the guests, even if many of them barely knew the trio.   
  
He wished he had gone to his own funeral, but sadly he was halfway across the world, performing yet again, another death-defying act. He only knew of the events from the news, one of the only things he was allowed to see.   
  
He wondered why his older sister never thought to tell his parents of his alternate self. Why she decided to keep it a secret, _who knew?_ She didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. Maybe she had assumed his death as well. He wished to speak with her, but the _bug_ that encroached his mind made it difficult for any sort of rebellion.   
  
He’d grown used to that dull ache in the back of his mind, a _reminder_ as to who was controlling him. He didn’t even have power in his own body. His thoughts weren’t even _his_.   
  
But at times like these, when he was performing for a whole crowd to see, his thoughts were the _clearest_ they could ever be. That’s why he did his best thinking up here, his deepest contemplations during his performances.

But to know that his best friends, who would risk their lives for him in a heartbeat, were _forever gone_ , left him with no choice than to _stay_. How could he continue living without his two supportive braces? The pillars that helped him see past his wrongs and correct him to do the right things?

Sometimes he wished he could go back in time and _reverse_ the events of that horrific day.

Sometimes he wished he was in his friends position. He _preferred it be him_ plummeting to his death than his friends who deserved none of what was given.

The dull pain in his head suddenly grew stronger, entrenching every fiber in his body. It urged him to move forward, to continue and reach the finish line on the other side of the tightrope. He knew exactly _who_ was telling to move on, demanding him to hurry up because he had to rob a bank later that night.  However, he resisted its involuntary impulse.

This prompted the ache to grow stronger, encompassing his mind. With the little consciousness he could gain control of, he compelled his body to take a step _backwards_.

The pain that surrounded his mind became too much and he faltered on the delicate string. He could barely hear the gasps from the crowd as his arms flailed, releasing the scythe that was previously clenched in his right hand.

One moment he was on the line, the next he was falling _off_.

_Just like his friends._

_Falling, falling, falling,_ it seemed as the ground was never to come. Its absence left him _terrified_. Would he ever hit rock bottom? Was he doomed to plummet for _eternity_?

His ears filled with the ear splitting screams and sobs of his friends, creating a _cacophony_ of appalling noises. At some point he had closed his eyes to relieve himself of the terrible agony, however he was only met with the faces of his best friends in their last moments of living.

His eyes shot open instantly, coming face to face with two red glowing orbs. _His own eyes._

Staring at his own sleep deprived appearance, he was only reminded of the unpleasant expressions of his friends.

When would he be free from the guilt that followed him around like a _shadow_?

When would he _escape_ this horrible torture that chained him in like an desperate animal?

When would he see his friends _again_?

When would come the opportunity to _apologize_ to his friends for his wrongdoings?

The thing was, he was _too late._


End file.
